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The Fallen
We lament for the fallen.
The cursed whose lives have withered.
Whose shadows cast no longer the shade that cools summer days.
We've lost but haven't become lessened.
We who live should be comforted by out blood,
For we still have some more to bleed.
When the dark comes for us, keep those eyes wide.
Let them see the light fade and know that time will go on once we pass those borders.
The dead may rise someday, but know that they may not.
And don't fret the eternal sleep and the nothingness that may come in the beyond.
For nothing is but a word with a meaning.
And what has a meaning was always meant for something.
It is the fear of this that makes letting go so weary.
That makes our sorrow so fierce.
But know that all shadows fade at night, only to return at first light.
It is the clouds we must hide from.
For they bring the colorless beast with them.
And it washes our palettes grey.
Static and lifeless but alive.
The worst of all conditions.
